


Augury

by persicae



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Cabin Fic, First Time, Frottage, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist is Bad at Feelings, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist's Compulson, M/M, Oral Sex, Prostate Stimulation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-02
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-15 12:36:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29808510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/persicae/pseuds/persicae
Summary: When Martin and Jon arrive at Daisy's cabin, Martin makes the statement about their relationship he never thought he'd make.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 11
Kudos: 79





	Augury

The Eye always watches, and so Martin always watches out for Jon.

Jon is The Archivist, an embodiment of the Ceaseless Watcher, but he’s also the only one who can hide from the eyes, or try. It’s possible that this is all just Elias’ doing, letting Jon pretend that he can escape the realities of this world with his…with Martin, can blind the many eyes seeking them. Perhaps this is like before, when Elias let Jon leave the Archives and stay with his friend. His  _ ex _ . Maybe this time Elias wants to give him the opportunity to…to… well, to do  _ something _ . Martin doesn’t know what, frankly, and can’t even begin to guess.

Martin doesn’t know, and Jon doesn’t know, and that unease lingers every time Jon tugs at his wrist so they can slip out of the train, or hide in the back of a truck, or otherwise try and hide from something whose only job is to See.

But that’s Jon’s job: to try and watch the Watcher.

Martin’s only job is watch Jon. So Martin makes him sleep when he’s tired, eat when he’s hungry, take deep breaths when he’s shaking. Martin tries to remind Jon that he’s — well, not human, Martin has tasted some of the power that comes with being an avatar of one of the Fears, and Jon was in a  _ coma _ for a while, like, practically  _ dead _ and Martin mourned for him and, and anyways the point is that Martin touches him, too. Makes him laugh. Pulls him back from the Eye, the way he pulled Martin back from the Lonely.

It’s hardest to watch Jon when his steps pause as he stares at someone with that  _ look _ in his eyes that Martin is simultaneously horrified and entranced by. Martin knows he has to be  _ hungry _ . It’s been a while since Jon’s read a statement, but Martin always intercedes, standing between Jon and the, oh god, the  _ prospective victim _ and babbling and tugging at him until Jon reels himself, that feral need subsiding slowly, like a tide going back out to sea.

Jon’s always ashamed after, and snappish. He tries not to take it out on Martin, though. Even when he does, though, Martin knows how to endure it. Martin holds him, to ignore the fact that there’s a shred of fear constantly lurking in his heart. He holds him close until Jon clings to him in turn and the flood of warmth and affection and sheer  _ hope _ that comes with it more than makes up for the struggles.

That, and the ever-present knowledge that Jon came for him. Martin sacrificed everything, and Jon refused to let him go.

They make it to Daisy’s cabin after nearly a week of constant travel, with no eyes except their own for the better part of ten kilometers, and a defense system that’s made up of physical traps, not alarms or cameras through which they might be spotted.

Martin drops everything by the door, whole body sore and back aching from the only things important enough to bring with him. It’s almost pathetic. A whole life, and Martin fit everything that mattered into a backpack in a scramble that lasted less than fifteen minutes.

Jon steps further into the cabin, sneezing at the fine layer of dust, and then offers a crooked smile back to Martin.

Well. Not everything fit into that backpack after all.

“So now what?” Martin asks after a moment of silence.

“I — I don’t know,” Jon admits.

“Alright,” Martin says decisively. “Go shower. I’ll tidy up.”

It speaks to Jon’s exhaustion that he doesn’t even make an attempt at politeness, just opens doors in the small cottage until he finds the bathroom and closes the door behind him.

Martin does a thorough investigation of the place. He’s surprised to find that it’s rather well stocked. There are some cleaning materials, some basic canned goods. They’re going to have to go into town for more supplies, of course, since there’s only a few packets of musty tea, no sponges to speak of, and only a few loads’ worth of detergent. Martin cracks the windows, then dusts and sweeps all the surfaces, humming under his breath as he works.

By the time Jon emerges, Martin has a load of laundry going and tea sitting on the table. It’s a good thing he finished the tea before Jon stepped out because Martin would have spilled the boiling hot water everywhere otherwise. Jon’s got nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist and is shivering slightly. His hair has gotten long enough that water drips from the ends. Even though Jon has always been unhealthily pale and rather gaunt, looking even older thanks to the grey in his hair, with the flush from the hot shower he looks more alive than he has in a long time.

“I — I thought you might want something,” Martin stammers. “To drink. Tea. I made you tea, I thought you might want it. Here.” He gestures to the teacups, like there could be anywhere else the tea might be.

“Thank you, Martin,” Jon replies, but arches a brow at their belongings, which have clearly been rifled through. “What are the chances you left me a change of clothes?”

“Oh!” Martin exclaims. “Sorry, no I didn’t, I didn’t think — there’s a washer, you know? And it’s been a while, so I just — ”

Jon blinks at him, eyes narrowed. “Martin, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing!” Martin squeaks. There’s a drop of water that falls from Jon’s hair to his collarbone, and rests in the dip of flesh there. It’s not like Jon’s got loads of muscles or anything, and he’s covered in scars, but there’s a relentlessness to the way Jon moves these days that Martin keeps losing himself in. He wants to kiss the water on Jon’s skin, wants to lick it away, and see whether his own lips will leave Jon’s skin just as flushed.

Jon brushes the droplet away absentmindedly, and then shivers again.

“That’s alright, I’ll just put on the old clothes. I’ll probably shower again tonight anyways, so no harm. Be right back.” Jon disappears back towards the bathroom again and Martin closes his eyes tightly.

“This is  _ not _ the time to be thinking about sex!” he whispers to himself sharply. “You’ve not even really talked about things, he just rescued you and well, it was kind of like a love confession but you probably should be more worried about what you’re going to do next than getting into his pants!”

_ Or underneath his towel _ , Martin’s brain helpfully whispers, and then provides example images of what Jon might look like without it.

Martin gulps down his tea and tries to figure out what they can spend their time doing that isn’t Martin leering at his boss. Former boss? His...Jon. At Jon. He finds a few books tucked into a corner first. He rips off the two covers that have eyes on them and burns them, then sets all the books on the table. He’s pretty sure that the television is a no-go, and after a moment of dithering, physically moves the television so that the screen is facing against the wall. Then he breaks the screen. Just in case.

Other than the generic titles Martin left on the table, there’s not much else in the way of entertainment available.

When Jon returns, Martin has brewed more tea for himself and is chewing on his lip while staring down at a piece of paper he found.

“We’ll need to get groceries,” Martin announces. “There’s enough for a few days, if we’re willing to eat beans almost exclusively. But the village isn’t too far away, and I’m afraid I’ve used up the last of the tea already.”

“Did you?” Jon seems more amused than anything, and drops into the chair next to Martin heavily, wrapping his hands around the mug. “Well, I don’t know about you, but if we’ve got enough of everything for today, that’s fine. The last thing I want to do is be on the move again.” He glances at Martin, raising a brow. “Don’t you want to shower as well? The place already looks much better, you should get comfortable.”

“Sure. Yeah, of course,” Martin agrees automatically. He leaves his second cup on the table and goes to the bathroom. He washes up quickly and dresses again, glancing at himself in the mirror and making a face.

Jon is transferring everything to the dryer by the time Martin joins him, refusing to let Martin take over for him and instructing him to sit down. Martin doesn’t know what to do with himself if he’s just sitting, though, and hovers until Jon gives him a look.

“Are you alright? I’m not going to break, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“I just…Elias! Er, Magnus. Is he looking for us, d’you think?”

Jon shrugs. “I don’t know. He can see me right now, sort of, in that he knows I’m alive and out in the world and I can tell that he’s still near the Panopticon, but if he’s looking for us, or seen us, I don’t know. I don’t think so. I’m more a part of the Eye than Gertrude was, which ironically makes it harder for him to see me. An eye cannot see itself, and all that.”

“I just hope Basira manages to get some information to us without Elias knowing,” Martin adds worriedly. “Or that she’s able to find Daisy. And that Trevor and Julia don’t find us first. Or Not-Sasha, now that she’s free.”

“Preferably all of the above,” Jon agrees with a sigh. He closes the dryer door and scowls at the surprisingly complicated set of buttons. After a moment of pressing things randomly, he gets it started, and Martin gathers the musty sheets from the bedroom and set up the next wash. Better to at least accomplish something, however small.

Martin trails after Jon back to the kitchen afterwards, and hears Tim’s vaguely mocking and amused voice calling him a duckling. Jon pushes the teacup into Martin’s hand, and then gestures for them to sit on the ancient couch that’s in front of what would have normally been the best location to watch television.

“Did you…” Jon gestures at the television.

“Oh. Yup. Yes. Just a precaution, I thought.”

“Ah. Good. That’s…good.”

Martin stares down at his tea. Jon doesn’t pick up a book, or speak. Martin is going to implode, babble rising up in his throat like bile, anything to fill the silence. He’s more tense now than he’s been during their escape, and the liquid in his cup splashes.

Jon’s fingers slide across Martin’s, plucking the tea from his grip and setting it on the table.

“Martin,” Jon says. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

Or not says. Compels. There’s that undercurrent in his voice that’s deep and endless, and Martin’s head empties of thought, of resistance, vulnerable and splayed open.

“I keep thinking about touching you,” Martin confesses. “When you came out of the shower, there was this bit of water, right there. Right on your collarbone. I wanted to lick it away. But if I touch you, everything might unravel, you know? Whatever it is we have now won’t be unspoken anymore. I keep thinking that you came to find me in the Lonely out of guilt, or obligation, I’m the last of the assistants you started with, and you didn’t even  _ want _ me. Elias gave me to you, forced me on you, and I don’t know why. Maybe he just wanted to put me someplace where it would be easy for me to die and have that death be useful, or maybe he just looked into my brain and realized I — I already liked you, while you were still in Research, and then you were my  _ boss _ and I still really liked you. Really like you. Really  _ really  _ like you, because it hasn’t gone away, not after everything, no matter what you’ve done, I just keep looking at you and seeing the best of you.

“Maybe that’s why you liking me back seems more precarious, not less, once you rescued me. You even hugged me when we got out and I cried. It feels like too much all at once, like when you spend too long outside in the cold and just being indoors feels like you’re burning up. Just because you saved me from the Lonely doesn’t mean I stopped being  _ lonely _ , waiting for you to realize what a mistake you’ve made, waiting for you to turn me back into your assistant, who’s only useful half the time because I’m not even that good at doing what the Eye wants.

“And we haven’t even kissed. Not once. I’ve thought about it. And I hope that you’ve thought about it, but I can’t tell for sure. I know sex doesn’t interest you the same way but I also think it might just be  _ me _ . I’m — I’m not handsome, you know? Or even really fit.

“I don’t want to be a mistake. I don’t want to be someone who costs you your happiness. Please, Jon.  _ Please _ .”

Martin doesn’t know if he’s begging to be released from the compulsion, or begging for an answer. Either way, the relentless hook drawing out his words snaps free, and Martin shudders. There’s a line of sweat down his back and in his armpits, and vaguely he thinks about how he needs to buy deodorant when he goes into the village, because that’s easier than thinking about what just happened.

“Martin? Martin!” Jon pulls Martin into his arms while Martin catches his breath. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to compel you, I think I was just, well,  _ hungry _ and it slipped out. I did truly want to know what was wrong. That part wasn’t a lie. But I’m still sorry.” There’s the faint press of rough lips against Martin’s temple.

“It’s alright. I understand. I’m fine.” Martin pushes Jon away, flushed and embarrassed and  _ angry _ that there’s new vivacity to Jon’s eyes and he looks more clear-headed. There’s a new doubt to sow — that Jon only took Martin along because Martin is a coward afraid of almost everything, and afraid of being passed over by those he loves most of all, and so he probably seems like a feast for Jon to consume until Basira manages to get him some statements to read.

Jon catches Martin’s wrists, though. “This isn’t because of pity,” he says urgently. “I need you to know that. It’s because I’m in love with you, and I’m most sorry of all that it took almost losing you to realize.”

Then they’re kissing.

Jon’s mouth is hot and surprisingly demanding. Martin finds himself pushed down to the couch cushions, Jon’s damp hair brushing his cheeks. Somehow, Jon knows just how to make Martin’s toes curl with his kiss, tongue sliding against Martin’s lower lip shyly before retreating.

Martin’s eyes open slowly when Jon breaks the kiss, both of them breathing heavily. “I saved you from the Lonely because I couldn’t live with myself if you died thinking that I’d never cared. I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t do whatever it took to bring you home safe. I saved you because you’re  _ you _ , and I love you.”

Those words are in the air now, and can’t be taken back.

“I love you,” Martin blurts, and it’s a relief, like he’s finally put down an enormous weight he’s been carrying for too long. “I love you. I really love you, Jon.”

“I know,” Jon murmurs, but his eyes crinkle with the force of his smile, and the scars only serve to make him feel more real, not less.

When Jon leans in for another kiss, though, Martin slips a hand between their lips.

“Martin?”

“We don’t have to, if you’re not interested,” Martin says. If Jon isn’t, though, Martin might need to make an extremely mortifying trip to the bathroom, first to get off, and then to drown himself.

Jon tilts his head, studying Martin until Martin has to close his eyes again. “I don’t hate it, you know,” Jon explains, and Martin cracks open one eye to peer at him. Jon isn’t looking at him anymore, and he sits up to run a hand through his hair. “It just…isn’t the point, when it comes to being with a person. And it’s not the point of why I’m with you. I might not always be interested, and I’m definitely out of practice, but I’m…” He flushes. “I’m interested in you. Now. If you’re also interested.”

Martin wonders if he might combust after all. The books and movies never make it seem this awkward when people confess their feelings after a rescue, or after an earth-shaking revelation. Martin, on the other hand, seems to have forgotten how to breathe, and is intensely aware that there wasn’t any toothpaste in the bathroom so he hasn’t brushed his teeth yet today and he’s  _ still _ got sweaty armpits.

Jon, to be fair, doesn’t look any better. Feeding from the inadvertent statement aside, they’ve still been on the run for a week. And Jon  _ had _ offered.

The fear lurks, and Jon and Martin watch each other.

Slowly, very slowly, Jon leans in again, mouth brushing against Martin’s. The last of Martin’s restraint snaps, and he wraps himself around Jon. It should be too embarrassing to contemplate. Instead, Martin just feels warm with Jon covering him. They kiss for a long time, Martin gradually growing bolder in his touches, slipping his hands beneath Jon’s shirt until he’s coaxing Jon to respond to his touches.

Neither Jon nor Martin are in the prime of their youths, however, and the couch was selected more for the price than the comfort. Martin’s ass gets wedged between two of the couch cushions, and one of Jon’s feet, which had been on the floor, slips from beneath him and he lands on Martin with a huff. Martin just laughs though, giddy in his delight, and Jon’s chuckles against his throat feel like ecstasy.

“Bedroom?” Martin suggests, and feels Jon nod against him.

It’s Jon that wraps his fingers around Martin’s wrist again and guides him towards the bedroom. Only then does Martin realize there are no sheets or duvets to hide underneath because he decided to wash them all out of sheer anxiety. Jon doesn’t seem to care, though, pulling Martin onto the bed.

Martin has spent a lot of time being afraid. Maybe he deserves to be brave enough to reach out for the happiness that is reaching back towards him.

For both their sakes, Martin goes slow, or tries. But then Jon makes a surprised moan in the back of his throat when Martin sets his teeth a little too sharply on his throat.

Martin jerks back. Jon’s blushing.

“Oh. Okay,” Martin says, and does it again.

He doesn’t have a lot of experience with this kind of thing, but Martin watches Jon, has watched Jon, knows how to read his body even if he doesn’t always know what to do with that information. Martin bites his way down Jon’s throat to his chest, and rucks up his shirt, then Martin drags his nails down Jon’s sides.

There’s a sharp hiss of air from between Jon’s teeth, but he’s starting to get hard in his trousers.

“Can I take your shirt off? Is that alright?” Martin asks, and is rewarded when Jon wriggles beside Martin, helping him get it over Jon’s head and onto the floor.

“Yours?” Jon asks breathlessly. His eyes are dark in his face, and Martin shivers a little, but nods.

Martin’s skin is no less pasty than Jon’s, but he is hyper aware of his own softness, his bulk compared to Jon, but Jon seems to take a comfort in it, running his hand across the stretch of skin at his waist, the pale hair on his chest, the nipples and the scars around them. Martin toes curl when Jon thumbs his nipples again, and then kisses them, panting a little from the closeness. Jon’s eyes are practically glowing as he gazes up at Martin and Martin lets out another inadvertent moan.

Jon’s smile bares his teeth and Martin can hardly breathe.

Despite his attempt to let Jon go at his own pace, to keep touching Martin how he wants and where he wants until he’s satisfied, Martin needs to kiss Jon, needs it now, and drags him close. Jon chuckles against his lips until Martin’s tongue shuts him up.

Just because Jon’s mouth is occupied doesn’t mean his hands are, though, and before long Jon is unbuttoning Martin’s jeans and pushing them down out of the way before doing the same to his own trousers. Martin’s hand slides down Jon’s back to his ass, and Jon arches comfortably against him, smiling into the kiss. The movement brings them closer together, the sensation of heat and fabric and nails tangling beneath Martin’s skin. He wants more of it, and sits up with a sharp gasp.

Jon’s always disheveled, so perhaps disheveled isn’t the right word for how he’s sprawled across the mattress, hair on end, cock half hard in his underwear and bite marks all across his skin. A couple of them look like they might even bruise. Martin knows he’ll apologize for them later, that he won’t be able to help it, but for now, he rakes his nails over one of the marks.

Jon’s body goes taut for a moment, shuddering, and Martin’s mouth waters.

“Is it — would it be okay if I…” He can’t force the words out, but the way his eyes flicker down to Jon’s crotch make it clear.

“Oh! Oh, yes, if you’d like,” Jon assures with an almost absurd amount of RP stiffness in his voice. Martin might have overthought things then, but Jon’s flush has stretched down his chest, and he puts his hands to his underwear before glancing up at Martin for confirmation.

Martin helps him the rest of the way, socks and trousers and underwear all being tossed aside, and then Jon is naked.

“Here, like this,” Martin suggests, kneeling on the carpet beside the bed as Jon sits before him. Jon tries to say something about Martin’s knees, but Martin’s heart races at the thought of having this chance taken away from him.

So he gets his mouth on Jon, and there’s silence except for the ragged tone of Jon’s breath and the sucking noises from between his thighs.

Jon’s fingers are tight in Martin’s hair. He’s hard, filling Martin’s mouth, smelling like the same soap that Martin used in the shower. Martin thinks he’ll remember the scent forever even though it’s just a generic brand Martin’s passed by a thousand times. It’s been a while since Martin’s done this, so he works up to taking as much of Jon as possible slowly. Jon’s thighs quiver with each movement of Martin’s tongue against his foreskin, but he doesn’t seem to be getting any closer.

Finally, Martin has to pull off and strokes Jon instead since his jaw feels like it might fall off.

“I’m sorry,” Jon rasps, one hand covering his eyes. “It’s always been like this, I should have warned you. I thought…”

Martin pauses, brow furrowing. “Thought what?”

“Thought I’d understand what all the fuss was about when it was with someone I knew I loved.” There’s a crooked, beautiful, uncertain smile on Jon’s face, and Martin leans up to kiss Jon.

“That’s alright. Is there a way to make it easier?” Martin asks.

Jon hesitates. “It’s just difficult for me to focus. My brain wanders off, I’m afraid. It takes a lot to make it quiet, and I usually lose interest before I get to that point.”

Martin can’t fathom that, honestly, but it’s Jon, and so Martin is going to make it work. “Here.” He gestures for Jon to shuffle backwards, and then reaches for one of their shirts. It’s not a proper blindfold by any means, but it’ll get the job done. “Let’s try this.” He hands it to Jon to tie, and then heads to the bathroom. He’s pretty sure there was lotion in there, and is rewarded in his search.

When he returns, Jon’s laying on the mattress, muscles stiff and expression uncertain. He whips his head towards Martin when he hears Martin’s return. “It’s me! It’s just me, Jon,” Martin promises, hands raised as though to fend off an attack, but Jon relaxes back into the bed, although he still doesn’t look convinced. Martin drops the lotion on the bed before climbing between Jon’s thighs again.

This time, Martin tries to surprise him, starts sucking him without warning. Jon flails a little and shouts, “ _ Christ _ , Martin!” in a voice that feels like his compulsion but that strikes right through Martin and leaves him practically leaking.

“This distracting enough, Jon?” Martin teases against his inner thigh, and Jon’s head tosses back and forth as Martin’s tongue slides against him again.

“Yes, damn, yes  _ Martin _ ,” Jon gasps, hips rolling up against Martin’s mouth. But the sensations plateau after long minutes, Jon’s thigh over Martin’s shoulder while Jon moans and squirms, caught between thought and blessed quiet.

Martin doesn’t — won’t — demand he come, even though Martin wonders if  _ he’ll _ lose his mind before Jon does, just from the way Jon’s, well, Jon’s  _ everything _ keeps Martin on edge. But he can almost taste Jon’s frustration with himself, with the situation, and Martin is determined to help him through it.

So he grabs the lotion after a few seconds of blindly scrambling to find it with one hand, and manage to slick up his forefinger. He rubs it against Jon’s ass for a moment, which makes Jon half sit up, asking, “Martin?” in a concerned voice.

“Trust me,” Martin replies, holding his breath, but Jon drops back to the bed.

“I do. I have. I trust you.”

_ Please let this work, please, please, please _ , Martin prays, and slides his finger inside Jon. He finds Jon’s prostate with relative ease, thumb rubbing against it from the outside, and sucks Jon  _ hard _ .

Jon jerks like he’s been electrocuted, heel digging into Martin’s back as he tries to ride Martin’s fingers and fuck his mouth and lose himself in Martin completely. Martin’s jaw aches, painfully aware of trying to maintain just the right position to make Jon clutch at sheets that aren’t there and beg Martin for more in pleading, wordless whimpers.

Martin’s teeth raking against Jon’s cock is an accident, but Jon nearly bites his lip bloody to keep back a shout as he’s pushed over the edge.

When Jon comes, it’s a relief, and ecstasy and need floods through Martin. He manages to swallow, sort of, but ends up coughing a lot too and knows it’s dripping down his face and splattered on Jon’s thighs, between which Martin is still crouched. Jon’s chest heaves like he’s run a marathon, muscles twitching with aftershocks. Just the sensation of Martin’s breath near Jon’s skin leaves him moaning from the sensitivity. Were it not for that, though, Martin wouldn’t be sure Jon if Jon is conscious, because he’s sprawled limply on the bed and shows no signs of trying to remove the blindfold or touch Martin in turn.

Martin should mind that Jon’s left him on his own, maybe, but mostly what he feels is smug. Smug to have wrecked Jon like this, and so desperate he’s pretty sure he’s going to explode. So he lays down next to Jon, shamelessly rubbing against him, pleasure sparking until there’s a wildfire blazing through him.

“Jon, Jon,  _ Jon _ ,” Martin gasps in Jon’s ear, clinging to him.

Still with the makeshift blindfold, Jon seeks out Martin’s warmth and tenderly kisses his pulse, fingers gliding across Martin’s skin as though Jon really  _ is _ blind, and is memorizing Martin’s shape. There’s a languid pleasure to the touch that’s like a drug that Martin chases, a high he can’t get enough of, whispering Jon’s name like a mantra.

“Martin,” Jon sighs back.

Martin comes, leaving wet streaks all over Jon’s thigh, the pleasure digging its teeth into him and refusing to let go.

When Martin’s body agrees to let him move again, he takes stock of the way they’re tangled together, both their breaths deep and even. Relaxed. Calm.

Martin wants to see Jon though, needs to see him, and so he pushes gently at the shirt around Jon’s head until Jon blinks up at him and smiles.

“Thank you, Martin.”

“You’re — you’re welcome. You don’t have to thank me, though. I clearly got a lot out of it too,” Martin says, ducking his head.

Jon shakes his, though. “Thank you for everything, Martin. Not just this. Trusting me. Coming with me. Loving me. Thank you.”

Martin blushes, but Jon silences protests with a kiss, and twines their fingers together.

“I don’t know what’s going to come next, but at least neither of us will be alone for it,” Jon murmurs, and Martin studies the way their fingers fit together.

“I won’t let either of us be alone anymore.”

**Author's Note:**

> Nothing like impulse writing a fic am I right? Thank you for reading the 24753978945235 version of the first time cabin sex Jon and Martin CLEARLY had lol. And thanks always to Ying for the edits. If you want to chat me up, come find me being multifandom on main on [twitter](https://twitter.com/rosa_persicae)!


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